


The Rules of Survival

by masseylass



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drama, Multi, Other, Porn With Plot, Romance, Shameless Smut, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masseylass/pseuds/masseylass
Summary: Jack realizes the apocalypse isn't so bad now that their husband is a corpse and they have free reign of the Commonwealth. Things that used to tie Jack down - law school, gender, "family" - don't matter anymore. Now all that matters is survival. And as long as Jack can eat, sleep, f*** and hydrate, they're perfectly content to be alive.
Relationships: Sole Survivor/MacCready
Kudos: 5





	1. Rule 1: Self-Preservation

**Author's Note:**

> *** I just realized I recycled the name Jack. This is a standalone fanfic and has nothing to do with the time I named a cisgender dude Jack and also hooked him up with MacCready. Two different Jacks. Whoops. Hahaha. ***

You ever meet the most selfish person alive? They’re about five seven, with short, dark, slicked-back hair; their eyes are hazel, almost brown; their jaw is strong, cheeks pocked and weathered, with dark circles under their eyes because they don’t sleep anymore, not that they’ve slept well for years. 

The day the bombs fell, they almost pushed their husband off the vault platform just so he’d bake. After those Institute people came and put a bullet in his brain, they opened the cryo-pod, tossed him onto the floor, and popped three more into corpse for good measure. And the kid? They never looked for their kid. Why bother? They realized they made a mistake the day he came home from the hospital. It was nobody’s fault (nothing was _ever_ their fault,) it’s just the way it was.

I’m Jack, the selfish one. The “wife.” I was married to a misogynistic piece of garbage who saw my gender identity as a kink. I really did almost let him get fried by the nukes. I really did shoot his ice, cold corpse and leave him to rot in the vault. And I never looked for Shaun. I left the vault, scavenged what I could in Sanctuary, and left.

Rule Number 1: Self-Preservation. Fuck you, Nate. Fuck you.


	2. Rule 2: Don't Hold on to Old Shit

The tin roof sang under the thrum of the rain. I let the molerat chunks brew in the coffee mug over the hot plate, thinking that maybe, just maybe I was too hard on Codsworth. That stupid robot was more loyal that my husband ever was. Why hadn’t I taken _him_ to the vault instead? Because they wouldn’t let Codworth in, probably. Ugh. That still didn’t stop me from telling him off when I got back to Sanctuary, though, and now I was all alone. Well, except for Dog.

Dog was curled up on the dingy mattress next to the feral corpse. Eugh. Nasty little shits. It was getting late, too, and my best bet would be to haul Ol’ Gangly-Arms out the front door, toss him into the rain, and sleep there for the night.

I stared into the burbling chunks. They looked like dogfood. In fact, the can of dogfood in my pack was starting to look more appetizing than my dinner. Maybe Dog would let me swap him. I fished around in the cup, fingers making a nauseating squelch, and cringed as my tongue teased the meat. Huh. Not half bad, actually. I plunked it into my mouth and chewed. A little rubbery and gamey, but honestly I’d had pork whose texture was less appealing than that. I’d be fine.

Eating that awful meat did make me realize something, though: I had no game plan.

What was I doing out there? I didn’t have a job, a house, friends, family, anything. Just a dog – who was now gnawing on the arm of the feral – and a backpack full of nonsense: cigarettes, a lighter, chems, junk food, Gwinett Stout, water, and _Grognak the Barbarian and the Jungle of the Bat Babies._ Oh, and my wedding ring, but who cared about that? 

I dug around for my ring, pulled it out of my backpack, plopped it into the remainder of uneaten chunks, and left it sitting there as I heaved myself off the chair and set to work on clearing the mattress.

Rule Number Two: Don’t Hold on to Old Shit. Sorry, dog. Your chew-toy was in my way.


	3. Rule 3: It's Easier to Beg Forgiveness than to Scavenge Pants

“Oh god…” I groaned, doubling over at the middle. My pack fell onto the ground with a heavy thud. I hadn’t even made it a quarter of a mile away from the cabin before I had to stop. Dog tilted his head to the side and whined. “I know!” I barked through gritted teeth. “Believe me, I won’t make the same mistake again…” I suppressed a wet, acidic belch, last night’s dinner violating the back of my tongue. “Urk…” 

Well, that’s what I got for eating the meat off the first rodent who crawled out of from under a Red Rocket. Truth be told, I was kind of excited to be living in the apocalypse. First of all, it meant Nate was dead. Second, _it meant Nate was dead._ Bastard got was what coming to him. Third, I got to live out my weird fantasy. Whenever I wasn’t studying for the BAR, I was holed up in my room writing fantasy. Post-apocalyptic fantasy, mostly. I always imagined that if the zombpocalypse happened (or something like it) I’d be the lone-wanderer type, maybe some sort of leader, able to pick up a gun and live off the land and fend for themselves. But any and all enthrallment I felt toward being a real, live apocalypse survivor disappeared the moment I realized that both exits had been compromised, and I would have to make my first choice as a grizzled leader: do I shit my pants or barf onto my dog?

Rule Number 3: It’s Easier to Beg Forgiveness than it is to Scavenge Pants.


	4. Rule 4: Be Yourself, Cum as you Are

Are you into shirt-cocking? No? Me neither. But that was just too damn bad. 

Well, at least if I got lost, I could retrace my steps using the Hansel-and-Gretel breadcrumb trail I’d left behind, only instead of breadcrumbs it was…you know, never mind. A disaster is what it was. Either way, I finally found a pair of jeans that were maybe a size too small for my waist. They didn’t feel great against all the bloating and nausea but I made it work.

A day later, Dog and I found another cabin in the middle of nowhere. The person sitting inside scared the everloving shit out of me. She was _gorgeous._ Black, with thick lips and neatly cropped hair. A couple of stripes were buzzed to an even shorter length, creating this really cool zig-zag pattern against the sides of her head. 

“Lookin’ to buy?” she asked, legs crossed and arms dangling over the back of the couch, voice cool and crisp like an icy river.

“Depends. What are you selling?”

“Chems.”

I had 82 caps. I didn’t even want the jet, but damn if I didn’t want an excuse to talk to her for ten, fifteen more seconds. God, she was perfect. Her rough hand brushed against mine as she handed off the jet and I wished more than anything that I could fuck her. I think what made it even more enticing is the fact that I was single now. I _could_ potentially fuck her. But she wouldn’t reciprocate. Come on. I looked like shit. And so I took my jet and left.

That evening as I sat on the rock overlooking what I think was Lexington, I unzipped my tight pants and touched myself, thinking of that drop-dead gorgeous chem dealer. I pressed the mouth of the jet inhaler against my lips and pretended my head was between her legs. Oh, the things I would have done to her. With a puff, I sucked down the stringent fumes and watched the dull colors of the city melt into each other, fingers hard at work inside of me. 

“Ah…ah yeah…mmm…” 

Dog whimpered. He thought something was wrong with me. Such a sweet boy. Still, I ignored him, wishing I were back under the safety of the roof of the cabin on top of Whatserface. She looked so nice in those tight, black pants. I bet she looked even better out of them. I let the inhaler clatter onto the rock. It fell somewhere – I don’t know where – and I started shifting my hips against my hands. The base of my thumb was rubbing against my clit and that was all it took for me to come undone. 

“Yeah, fuck, right there! Oh fuck baby! Mmm! Ahh!”

Dog growled. I shook my jet-addled head and glanced over my shoulder. Two raiders were standing behind me with their guns drawn. They weren’t aimed at me, though. One was holding a gas mask at his side, and the other had a horrified look on her face. I think they were about to rob me and stopped once they realized what I was doing.

With nothing to lose, I leaned my head back, laughed, and plunged my slick fingers between my lips, sucking down the fruits of my orgasm with a filthy moan. I was not robbed that day.

Rule Number Four: Be Yourself and Cum as you Are.


End file.
